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Open on the interior of a small log
cabin. MA is at the stove, stirring a large
steaming pot. APRIL lies on one of the beds reading a book.
The front door bangs open and snow billows in as PA enters, wearing his polarbear-skin coat and carrying an armful of
wood. His beard is caked in ice.

PA:
I'm home! I brought this wood I chopped for the fireplace. Boy oh boy,
a man could freeze to death out there! Life sure is hard in the old
frontier times.

MA:
You said it! I've been slaving over this wood stove for thirteen hours
just to make us a tasty meat pie for dinner. Luckily I'm almost done.

There are two things of which I am
certain. The first: Death awaits us all. The second: The majority of
human beings will end up saying at least a couple of words within their
lifetime. When examined individually, neither of these events seems
significant. A guy drops dead in front of you? Eh, big deal. It was
bound to happen sooner or later. You hear someone speak? So what. Not
surprising at all. Well, unless you're deaf. Then it'd probably be
pretty shocking. Well, unless you're a deaf schizophrenic. Then you
might not be too shocked by a disembodied voice.

Although...what if you were a
schizophrenic who's been deaf since birth? Then you wouldn't even know
what human speech sounds like. So if the voice of, say, Micheal Landon
popped into your head one morning and started shouting things like
"Chew on that baby's arm!" "Start a fire in the public library!" "Those
dogs are laughing at you!" "Masturbate into an aquarium!" it would
probably just sound like "Blaguhblagublah!". Also you wouldn't even
know it was the voice of the dreamy-eyed heartthrob who played "Pa" on
Little House on The Prairie and "Teenager Who Gets Turned Into a
Werewolf" in I Was A Teenage Werewolf you were hearing, so the fear you
feel wouldn't even be mitigated by the fond childhood memories that
would've normally been conjured-up upon hearing said voice. Anyway,
just some food for
thought.

We are all of us haunted by demons. Most of these demons are trivial,
figurative demons (like self-doubt or chronic alcoholism), but
this is not the only type of demon. No, there also exists a
significantly less benign demon: Evil spirits who seize control
of our bodies and bend them to the Archfiend's will.

This guide is concerned with only the latter type of demon, so those of you who've come here seeking advice on how to overcome personal demons (like a fear of flying, compulsive overeating, or the fact that Sixpence None The Richer's 1998 hit single "Kiss Me" has inexplicably been playing on a loop in your head for the past fifteen years) would do well to look elsewhere for assistance because this guide only covers demons of the supernatural variety.

So less "Doctor Phil" and more "Sweet little girls hefting grown men over their heads and tossing them through
plateglass windows, middle-aged men
scrawling glyphs upon the walls in their own excrement while gibbering
in elder tongues, and kindly old grandmothers scuttling into your room late at night on dislocated limbs and unhinging their jaws to disgorge huge clouds of bees that swarm down your throat and eventually you choke to death on them because who could even breathe through all those bees?".

I awoke to
the aroma of freshly-ground coffee. I could tell it was expensive
coffee due to the way it smelled: Expensive. It made sense, of course.
Only the finest coffees would be permitted in the mansion of
infamously-handsome sex playboy Rick Mexico. I let out a sigh and began
to reminisce about the countless acts of debauchery the two of is had
engaged in the night before, but a sudden knock at the door jarred me
from my reverie. The door swung open, and a small wrinkled Cuban
hobbled in, clutching a tray of erotic breakfasting materials.

"Hot dog!
Eats!" I cried, greedily rubbing my hands together before seizing
several handfuls of what I took to be vagina-shaped pastries. As what
shoved these into my mouth, Rick strode through the door.

"Good
morning beautiful" he grinned, his teeth flashing like some diamonds
someone was shining an LED flashlight onto, "I see you're enjoying
Koko's novelty baked goods."

Summer: We all know it's a season, but what some of us may not realize
is that with it comes the threat of deadly tornadoes. These whirling
dervishes of destruction may seem cute and cuddly at first, but rest
assured: They're no laughing matter. Unlike other types of weather, a
tornado has little regard for local ordinances prohibiting wanton
property damage. Sure, scattered flurries can be bothersome, but when's
the last time a scattered flurry flung your doghouse into a nearby lake
and impaled your great uncle with a gardening implement? That's right:
Never. A scattered flurry has never done that because unlike tornadoes,
scattered flurries aren't gigantic weather assholes.

So what can you do to survive an encounter with one of these godless,
swirling deathtubes? Well, for a start, you can read the rest of this
article for some juicy tornado survival tips.

In this chaotic, advertorial, multibranded world of ours, it can be
difficult to know precisely how much value one is actually
getting for one's money. The best solution to this problem is to
carefully research your purchases beforehand, but this can take time
and effort, and it's not half as much fun or easy as just buying
whatever seems the neatest.

The other alternative is to rely on idiotic folk wisdom like "you
get what you pay for". But of course, whenever any reasonably wealthy
person follows "you get what you pay for" to its logical conclusion
they end up buying German cars, $7 bags of "organic" corn chips, and eight thousand dollar sets of Bose speakers simply because these were the most expensive options available to them at the time.

I took a deep breath, rang the doorbell, and smoothed out my skirt.
This was it. I was about to meet the man of my dreams.

The door opened, revealing an extraordinarily handsome man in a white
leather three piece suit. He extended his hand, "Hello, I'm eccentric
billionaire Rick Mexico. I made my fortune by being successful in big
business. I'm looking for a sexually-active woman with whom I can share
my material and emotional riches. Won't you come in?"

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Mexico," I said, stepping into the foyer and
fanning my brow with an ornate Asian fan, "You'll have to forgive me
for not returning your handshake, but your masculine jawline has my
heart fluttering like the pages of a butterfly book."

"You're not so bad yourself, sweet cheeks." He laughed a meaty laugh, and his eyes began scanning my body like a pair searchlights on a big city skyscraper.

To whom it may concern,
I know letters like this are a dime a dozen, but I hope you’ll hear me
out, because I've got an axe to grind, and I'm afraid I can't just let
sleeping dogs lie. I know what you're thinking: My advice is about as
welcome as a skunk at a lawn party. If it's not one thing, it's
another! But make no bones about it, there's a method to my madness,
and once the cat is out of the bag, you'll be thanking your lucky stars
that I got down to brass tacks instead of fudging and mudging like a
lost dog in high weeds. So let's run this up the flagpole and see who
salutes it.

It's no secret that I'm a something of a "lady's man". Any time I leave
the house, an all-female sex riot never fails to break-out. Elderly
women whip flashdrives filled with homemade pornography at me from
passing senior citizen mobility buses, and young girls fling themselves
nude and shrieking from suspension bridges and balconies in the hopes
of attracting just a moment of my attention.

Frankly, most of the time all I
need to do is raise my thumb and aim my index finger at a woman as if
I'm preparing to fire an imaginary flintlock pistol, and a woman'll have
torn her clothes off and tackled me before I am even able to pretend to
pull the imaginary trigger, causing the imaginary flint to strike the
imaginary frizzen and ignite the imaginary gunpowder and
propelling an imaginary lovebullet into her heart (causing her to fall
deeply in love with me).

Of course this is not always
the case. On occasion, I do come across women who (for
whatever reason: blindness, foolishness, lesbianism) don't immediately
realize how utterly captivating I am. Women like these always require a
bit of convincing before they'll begin demanding sex from me.
Fortunately, this process is not overly complex or difficult, provided
you know all the right things to say (which of course, I do). And
Double-Fortunately, I'm more than happy to share some of these "right
things" (great pickup lines) with you.

And please, there's no need to thank me. I don't perform public
services like these for accolades. A good deed is its own reward.

Tell me, friend: Are you BORED of traditional poetry? Have you grown TIRED of
rhyme, meter, and verse? Do you sometimes FLY into howling rages and
embark upon methamphetamine-fueled, multistate child-disembowelment sprees upon
discovering poetry books on your bookshelf? If so, then listen closely,
because I'm about to share a revolutionary, lifechanging product that
will blow your mind through the top of your skull and into low-earth
orbit where it shall remain until The Great Wild Goddess of Orbital
Decay swats it out of the sky like some cheap Soviet satellite.

What if I told that written poetry was on its way out? What if I told
you you there was another way to enjoy poetry? What if I told you that
instead of READING words arranged on a page, you could rip a poem open,
hollow it out, and wriggle INSIDE of it in order to literally
EXPERIENCE the thoughts and emotions of its author?

If you're like most people, you'll almost certainly respond to these
questions by screaming until your father runs into the room wielding a
fire poker and bellows, "Sweet Christ! How the hell did you get into
our house?! Answer me! ANSWER ME YOU SON OF A BITCH! Cheryl?...CHERYL!
Call the police! There's a goddamn MANIAC in Katie's room! Jesus God,
HURRY!"

That, or you'll just ask me to explain what I'm talking about. For simplicity's sake, I'm just gonna go ahead and assume you've asked the latter question so I can get started.

It goes without saying that time of year my inbox is practically
overflowing with holiday-centric electronic mail. Sure, I still get the
occasional fan letter ("Why do you hate me because I'm fat?", "Like
to meet booted and gay
gloved cops", "what do you think about a game like socom ,is
it ok to play that game?") but the majority of the emails I receive
throughout the winter months are request for a new entry in
my world-renowned series of holiday gift guides.

So you know what? I'm gonna make their holiday wishes come true. Ladies
and gentlemen...put
your hands together, pull them apart, and bring them together again
forcefully enough to create a sort of slapping sound for The 2014 Holiday
Internet
Guide To Products One Could Hypothetically Purchase As Gifts For Others If One Were So Inclined.

Burglar.
Chrome. Governor. Dispassionate. Leathery. Crouching. Molybdenum.
Horatio. Turtleneck. What do these words have in common? You guessed
it: None of them would ever be used to describe the aftermath of a
devastating fire. Another thing you don't often hear after a fire is
"Boy, that small child was sure a big help during the fire. It's a good
thing they were properly educated in the art of fire safety."

This is not to say that children are worthless during a fire. Obviously their unconsious forms can be stacked against walls to facilitate access to otherwise unreachable portals of egress, and certainly fastening a number of the pudgier kids around your waist before you leap from a dangerous height would greatly improve your chances of surviving impact, but this isn't I'm talking about. This article is meant educate kids about how they can make themselves useful before they black-out, not after.

Now by this point you may be
saying, "You talk a big game old man, but why don't you put
your
money where your fat mouth is and tell me exactly what I, the average
non-firefighting child, can actually do to
survive a fire?". A fair question, to be sure, but I'm not sure why you
needed to phrase it so rudely. Honestly. I'm only trying to help here.

In fact, you know what? I'm not even sure a kid like you deserves quality
fire safety tips. Why should I waste my time educating angry, spiteful
little shits? Tell you what: Since you obviously aren't interested in
my actual fire
safety tips,
I'll create a list of fire safety tips especially for undeserving,
mouthy children who don't respect their elders.

When it comes to toys, children have ridiculously low standards. A kid
will play with anything.
If you don't believe me, pick up any random object (a sheet of paper, a
handful of broken glass, a bunch of loose change clumped together
because someone spilled syrup or something in the cup holder) and hand
it to a two-year-old. Chances are they'll begin playing with it, and
good many of them will probably try to eat it too. That's how
openminded kids are; when it comes to potential toys, everything gets a
fair shake.

Alas, the same cannot be said of adults. As humans age, we develop
"tastes" and the ability impose "value judgments" upon "objects" people
"hand to us". For example: If you were to offer a full-grown woman a
bucket filled with antifreeze and say "Drink this, it's antifreeze",
she would almost certainly refuse. Not so with a child. In fact, a
recent survey conducted by the Pew Research Center found that a full
100% of children surveyed happily drank antifreeze out of a bucket. So
yeah, in conclusion...uh...kids...and, umm...they love...not
good...boardgames?

Dammit. I blew it. This segue is the worst. There's no way I can make
it work now. I guess I'll just have to start the article manually. Hold
on a sec, let me find the thing here. Alright, got it. Let's see if
this works.

Greeting
to student staff and business professional. So many of you are here
today. Woah! I am welcoming you to class of Beginning Computing. Object
of class is learn use of microchip computer for twenty century
workplace.

We all know of microprocessor computer, but do we
know each part and piece that make it function? No. Of course, no. Why
even learn such foolishness? Here is reason: Today, computer is much
importance at all job. You work at school? You work at police? You work
at petrol station? All these are putting the entry into computer.

So yes, learning computer is no joke. So let's come together with
me...and we learn the world of computers.

As
far back as I can remember, I've always been an Idea Man. I don't mean
this in a business sense, I literally mean that I am a human who
possesses both an X and a Y chromosome and occasionally formulates
thoughts and opinions about various things. An Idea Man.

For
example, I was able to come up with several fairly decent ideas a few
weeks ago when I placed a rusted can of quintuple-filtered spray butane
to my left nostril and held the nozzle open until the room began to
vibrate and shriek and indescribable colors exploded all around me and
my screams became muffled as the walls pushed in and in until
consciousness failed me and I knew no more.

Upon
awakening, I found myself entombed in a small chamber of pulsating,
amaranthine velvet. Though I did not know it at the time, it was to be
my home for the next several centuries. And although the pod was
cheaply furnished and the lone bookshelf contained only a small
rumpled-up stack of older Highlights magazines (in which most of the
mazes and puzzles had already been completed...IN PEN), I was
determined to make the best of a bad situation.

So while it is
true that the endless I spent imprisoned in that were neither
interesting nor eventful, I was able to spend a lot of quality time
reflecting on my life, which in turn lead me to consider the human
condition and eventually the very nature of existence itself. And while
it is also
true that none of this rumination ever resulted in anything
in anything other than a drowsiness or a mild headache, I did end come
up with a few pretty decent ideas for alarm clocks while I was in there.